


Revelation

by perryvic, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Loved your prompt, M/M, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 20:07:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5979558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perryvic/pseuds/perryvic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi





	Revelation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prosodiical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosodiical/gifts).



Was this how Lucifer became the devil? Fell, fell, fell into darkness with the enemy in his arms? In that moment of falling, Will embraced his other self with the sweet intensity he had denied himself.

They fell in tangled bonds of moonlit black blood, down into storm and night over the edge of the abyss, their wings burned away and replaced by silence.

He expected it to be the end. A rush of cold water, the breaking of bones, the shattering of more than eardrums before they were pulled under like the ill-prepared cliff divers they had been. Embraced the promise of peace and an end to torment, lying in the heart of a fatal violent moment. His final design, a departure to salvation and redemption.

Not struggling, not pain and the sheering struggle against cold, maelstrom waves and the rocks.

He wanted to go, he wanted to die because in that moment he had seen wings of the Dragon fall by his hand and he had been invincible. More than human, breathing in the taste of blood and the fire of the dragons death throes, the slayers transcended into a state of avenging grace. He had left behind the skin of his human self, and felt more than just power. Worse, he had felt Righteous.

And he wrenched defeat from the jaws of victory and fallen entwined like star-crossed lovers into the primal sea. He stopped struggling, his decision made, the sea deadly and hungry to consume them both into the black maw they plunged into, swirled, and seasoned with bitter salt.

There was no need to struggle, nothing he wanted to struggle against, let the ice cold water have its due. They'd had a perfect moment of glory, working in tandem, how things should have been all along, but too brilliantly fragile to exist for more than a flash.

He didn't expect the hand to wrap around his upper arm, pulling hard.

No. No, it couldn't possible. He had damned himself to hell to take Hannibal with him as an act of martyrdom for his last chance of salvation, and now he was to be saved into utter damnation? He tried to struggle but a part of him whispered, what use was his death, without Hannibal with him?

He let the pull happen then, did not gulp down the water, didn't fight it because if Hannibal lived without him then he'd wasted his opportunity, failed and damned only himself. Air hurt, stung like salt and rushed in huge whooping gasps into his lungs.

The chill of the bitter sea forced its way in through the wounds he received. He was broken, broken by it all, his bid for redemption shattered. He had no more strength in him to fight to live or die. One step from the damnation or salvation of suicide. He knew in that moment, his idyllic family interlude would never return again.

Molly, Molly and her son and the dogs, and a quiet peace, that was over and broken now, by him. He couldn't go back, not if he wanted her and them to all live, live on without him. He turned, seeking, and Hannibal, he saw a flash of him, sleek like a wolf in the water, pulling Will toward the shelter of the rocks.

His arms barely moved, hypothermia setting in, confusion fogging his thoughts and bringing hallucinations in its wake. Heat rising, and burning in his skin, cold so intense it burned. Swirling light around Hannibal’s head, a transfiguration in progress.

The next level, transfigured in his becoming to what? What did Hannibal become after the defeat of the Great Red Dragon, but a god, an angel. He was jostled, pulled up onto a low shelf of rocks, and Hannibal was breathing hard, rasping his exhalations close to his ear.

There was no fear, because he no longer cared. He was something dragged from the shell of Will Graham. He would die or not. He would Become or not. Perhaps this was the process, perhaps this was how Hannibal had shed fear, stepped away from humanity.

Archangel Michael slew the Great Dragon at the end of the world, and saved what? the Second coming? Second Becoming. His laugh was more like a spasm.

"Sssssh. We must stay still." There were sirens off in the distance, and they were, he assumed, out of sight. Presumed dead, which was correct. Death would come, either now or later. Time was meaningless now his fear was dissolved by his longing for death.

There was still hope. He was still bleeding, he could still die. A faint hope to cling to as he stared at Hannibal. Hair flat against his head, his eyes darker than the night around them, lips bloodied with the life blood of the Dragon. 

Invulnerable.

Victorious and at peace in it, as he shifted closer to Will. They were wet and going to freeze to death, and the heat of Hannibal's body would not keep them both alive.

Hope, a spark he seemed unable to stop, no matter the torment it brought to him.

“Kill me.” A whisper barely audible.

Hannibal's eyes seemed to shutter, but the light didn't dim. "No." Precise, crisp, and he shifted Will, stretched him out in their little space, onto his back, using the moonlight Will supposed to assess the situation.

Black in the moonlight, disguised by blood, dragon blood, his own blood. “Beauty cannot last...” He didn't know why he said it. He hadn't known why he had given Hannibal the bliss of believing himself right when he said it was beautiful.

Because it was the only thing he could give him. Hannibal had awakened something in him, in Will, touched him in places no one should have touched, left his mark in ragged rended lines across Will's soul. Hannibal leaned down, wiped the side of his face of the blood, the water, and pressed fingers against the wound on his side. "This will. You will."

The pain cleared his mind, his thoughts, enough for him to gulp down air whether he wanted to or not. “No, no...” It was weak and feeble, but it injected life instinctively into him.

"You will." Hannibal ripped at his shirt, and Will realized he was packing the worst wound. Salt water and cotton wasn't the worst thing to inflict on him, and he could only lay back and gasp.

“Don't...” He wasn't even sure he said it aloud. They would force a mask onto him, force the veneer of civility back onto his shape.

He couldn't face it, couldn't let himself be molded that way again, after all the struggle, death was so welcome and survival wasn't. He had to, he had to....

He knew that when Hannibal leaned back it would be to shout. To shout for William's rescue.

And when they came he would fall, fall, fall forever.


End file.
